#high school (sources say basically all the characters are 18 in the first movie though none of the actors look that young LMAO)

[circusgoth-dotcom]

also why is matthew lillard's tongue so long. put that thing back where it came from, sir, respectfully (light-hearted)

[wiypt-writes]

Murder, He Wrote

Part 1

Co-written with @southerngracela​

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela​ for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Disclaimer: This is a pure work of fiction and by writing it does NOT mean I agree with or condone the acts contained within. This fiction is classified as 18+. Please respect this and do not read if you are underage. I do not own any characters in this series bar reader and any other OCs that may or may not be mentioned. By reading beyond this point you understand and accept the terms of this disclaimer.

Murder, He Wrote Masterlist // Main Masterlist.

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but, not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. 

A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places. 

Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room.

The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone.

With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. 

“Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat.

“Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize.” You bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. 

Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Alongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. 

You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness.

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you, Sweetheart? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat.

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out three vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. 

The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** Part 2

[what-is-your-plan-today]

Murder, He Wrote

Co-written with @southerngracela

Part 1 

Summary: You’re sent by your asshole boss to do a review of a Celebrity Host Haunted Mansion, hosted by none-other than the arrogant, wild-eye browed actor Lucas Lee, but you’re worried you’ve missed the boat…that is, until at the last minute, an email arrives to say they can let you in on the last admission that night, which just happens to be Halloween… When you arrive, you’re actually kind of excited and intrigued…but it isn’t long until that excitement and intrigue give way to fear when you find yourself in a helpless situation.

Warnings: A creepy house, bad language words. MATURE (NSFW 18+) NON-CON situation, kidnap, violence. DO NOT READ IF ANY OF THOSE TRIGGER… READER DISCRETION IS ADVISED. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!!!!

Pairing: DARK! Ransom Drysdale x Reader

A/N:  So this is a collaboration between myself and the wonderful @southerngracela for @jtargaryen18 ‘s  Haunted House 2020 challenge…and will be a mini-series, with an as of yet undefined number of chapters.

Once again READ THE WARNINGS!!!! This is a DARK Series… don’t @ us if you can’t follow simple instructions and end up with butt-hurt. And if you’re under 18…get off my blog.

Series Masterlist. 

"Y/L/N," your dick editor poked his head into your office rather gruffly. "I'm gonna need that celebrity haunted mansion review on my desk by tomorrow morning. I want to run it ASAP.”

"I can't even get in, not even with a press pass, I've been trying for two weeks, Mick!” you looked at him, your mouth slightly open. You’d told him this countless times at morning briefings. You hadn't even heard back from the organizers about sneaking around the press pass issue and offering an exclusive on the joint, a small fact you kept Mick in the dark about.

"Make it happen." He said simply, before he turned and left.

You glared at his retreating form. What the fuck did he not understand about the situation? Mind you, what did he understand about anything? There was a reason everyone working for him called him Mick The Prick.

There was also a reason he was being extra prickish to you. Earlier in the spring time of the year you’d run an article on Ransom Drysdale- the stuck up, trust fund asshole who had literally gotten away with murder. He’d confessed to murdering his grandfather’s house keeper, attempting to murder his grandfather and then, in a violent showdown with 2 police officers and a private detective present, he’d attempted to murder his grandfather’s nurse, Marta. And he would have succeeded, except the knife he’d used had been a stage prop. It was like some fucked up Murder, She Wrote plot, and when you’d interviewed the real life Jessica Fletcher (in this case the rather charming PI named Benoit Blanc who’d been a character to say the least) it got even more confusing. Ransom had hired Blanc in some elaborate scheme to frame Marta for Harlan’s death to do her out of the inheritance via the Slayer Rule. That had back fired spectacularly when she had unwittingly switched back the vials of medication Drysdale had tampered with, meaning Harlan had truly committed suicide. 

The article was supposed to be done showing his side of the story, a way for him to set the record straight, but the more you’d dug and spoken to people surrounding the case, the more you were absolutely convinced of his guilt, not least because he’d been acquitted on the murder and attempted murder charges on technical grounds due to his confession being, allegedly, obtained under duress and without a brief being present. The only thing they’d managed to pin on him was the arson which had burnt the Chief Medical Examiner’s office to the ground, and when his brief had successfully argued mitigating circumstances- he wasn’t of sound mind given the shock surrounding him being cut from his grandfather’s will- he’d basically ended up being released on license.

It was a joke, and that was basically what your article had said. You’d written a scathing attack on how money could basically render you untouchable by the law, highlighting the failures of the Criminal Justice System. At the time, Mick the Prick had been delighted with it, publishing it under your suggested head line “Murder, He Wrote”- ha, go figure, and copies had flown off the shelves, the article online going viral.

And then money had talked once more, and the Drysdale’s had threatened to sue for defamation. That in itself was a joke, as you knew full well his mother, Linda, was only doing it to salvage her own reputation, the same reason she’d worked so hard to find a lawyer to get him off the charges despite the fact she knew full well he was guilty as sin. Mick The Prick had attempted to throw you under the bus spectacularly when the board had come looking for blood, but as editor the buck stopped with him, and he was given a formal warning whilst you were forced to publish a retraction and offer a written apology much to your utter chagrin.

Which was why he was now making your life as hard as possible, and your Investigative Journalism skills, that you’d honed over the last decade; from high school paper, college tribune and now your current employer, over the last 10 years or so since graduation were now being focussed on covering stories about housewives who found Jesus’ face in a slice of toast, or in this case a fucking Celebrity Host Halloween Haunted House review. Whereas you had dominated the first 2 pages once upon a time, you were now lucky if you made it further up than page 11.

With a groan you banged your head on your desk. Why had you not listened to your dad and become a damned teacher instead of a journalist. Dealing with snotty nosed brats would be easier than this.

By the end of your day, you were burning what felt like the midnight oil however it wasn't very late at all. Dark had settled in but it wasn't late by time. Just before you were to log off and leave for the night, a TV dinner and pint of mint chip waiting for you in your freezer (and probably a job search too seeing as you would no doubt be fired tomorrow morning for failing on your deadline) your email pinged on your desktop. You frowned at it, wondering who could possibly be emailing you this late but then you recognized the sender.

It was the reply you'd been waiting on from the organizers from the Celebrity Host Haunted House. Clicking the email open, your eyes scanned the message. The organizer was setting you up with a private tour, TONIGHT. "9 pm," you finished reading aloud, relief flooding your entire body. It meant a long assed, sleepless night whilst you wrote your article, but it was better than the looming threat of unemployment. Plus, on the upside, as it was a charity gig the organizer had pulled out the big guns and the blurb on the email told you that it was to feature none other than Lucas Lee, a once-upon-a-time famous A-List Movie star, who was possibly just as arrogant as Hugh Ransom Drysdale, but you had to give it to him, in the films you’d seen he was actually damned good, and also pretty hot so…every cloud.

Glancing at your clock, you had just enough time to clock out and grab a quick bite at a drive thru on your way. The location was nearly an hour outside the city so you needed to get gone and fast. A quick reply telling the organizer you were on your way was sent out and you grabbed your coat, pulling it on over your sweater dress and were gone. 

It took a good hour like you'd estimated and that was with stopping for a quick meal, to reach the address your GPS brought you to. It was creepy even at its first glance so you could only hope this payed off. With a quick swig of your watered down and flat fountain drink, you grabbed your bag and phone, exiting your vehicle and locking it shut. The cool night air bit at your exposed cheeks and you were glad you'd worn your coat and tights.

As you stood, gazing at the dilapidated house you shivered, as though, ice had replaced you spine. The walkway leading up to house was cracked, blood red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate and the moonlight cast a ghoulish glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted maze upon the side of the of the house's walls which showed the black decay of neglect, in between which splotches of original paint hinted at the house’s former prosperity. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors, tiny black spiders threading towards their prey and you gave another shudder, as far as first impressions went, yeah, it was fitting for a Halloween Haunted House tour.  

Pulling out your phone, noticing you had no reception (of course you wouldn’t, wasn’t that the cliché?) you took a few photos to use in the article and then gave a little squeak as the door creaked open on its own. Arching your eyebrow slightly, in a manner very much like the man you were here to meet, you strode forward and into the house. Immediately a musty, dank odour crept into your nose. The house was deadly silent except for the intermittent creaks and moans typically associated with a property that age. Black and brown mold dotted the ceiling of the tall hallway you stood in and the windows that framed the door on either side were covered with grime and dirt meaning the calm moonlight struggled to penetrate the darkness in thin thread rays, the main source of light being the open doorway. Sharp shadows roamed around the room and as your eyes adjusted to the dim light you noticed that there was a bright white envelope almost perched on the wooden table to the side of the hall. It was the newest thing in the room, so was obviously there for you.

You crossed over, the heels of your suede boots clicking loudly out in the silence of the hallway, and gently reached out for the envelope. A single word- Start- was written on the front in cursive, looping scrawl, very fitting for a spooky note. Another detail you committed to memory for your write up. You slid your finger into the crook of the envelope and slid it open. Inside was a small, white card, containing a message written in the same writing.

To ensure that you don’t become tomorrow’s big news, In this envelope you’ll find the first of 6 clues Of your super sleuth skills you should be proud, So make sure that you read your answers out loud. As one by one they lead to your ultimate demise. Which may or may not be a scary surprise…

Okay, now you were interested. This wasn’t just a walk through some scary assed, supposedly haunted house where Lucas Lee was no doubt set to jump out at you in some ridiculous disguise. This was a scavenger hunt, and your natural inquisitiveness was piqued. 'This could be fun', you thought as you reached for the next card that was in the envelope, reading the first clue. 

I’m tall when I’m young, and I’m short when I’m old. I also give heat but not enough to prevent cold

You pondered for a second, heat was leading you to think of a fire, and they certainly grew shorter with time, well eventually when they burnt out…but then again, the longer they went the hotter they got, and they certainly prevented the cold. Scanning the hallway for anything that might fit the description, your eyes flicked up to the ceiling which held an elaborate, but tarnished candelabra style chandelier. And then it hit you. Tall when young, short when old.

“Candle…” you spoke “The answer is Candle…”

At that the door leading to the outside slammed shut behind you, and you gave an involuntary scream as the dominant source of light was sealed off. You spun round to look at it, and then your scream turned in to a laugh as you shook your head, for an Investigative Reporter you prided yourselves on steely nerves but so far that was twice this adventure had caught you off guard.

Turning back round, you then spotted that the door at the end of the hall was open, and you could clearly make out a Jack-o-Lantern looking at you, the candle inside flickering. Its face was creepy, really creepy. The nose and eyes were harsh triangles and the grotesque, twisted smile it sported was constructed of sharp, jagged teeth. You reached into your pocket and pulled out your phone. You may have had no service, but the flashlight was working. Keeping the light held in front of you so you could watch your step on the cracked tiles of the hall, you made your way towards the lantern and found yourself in a large, run down kitchen. The lantern and your flash-light provided the only light in the room as the windows were all overshadowed by gnarly trees, their branches every so often scratching the glass as they swayed slightly in the wind outside. The only other sound to be heard was the drip, drip of the faucet in the porcelain Belfast sink. A closer look revealed the discoloration of the water, a brownish concoction as it swirled down the plug. There was an envelope on the side of the counter by the lantern and as you crossed towards it, a movement in your peripheral made you spin round only to see a lone mouse scuttling away across the dirty wooden floor. You placed your phone down, flash-light up causing it to light up an area of the Artex plaster ceiling, and picked up the envelope, tearing it open to find your next clue

Mr Jack-o-Lantern lights the night His eerie face is shining bright The ????? that shaped him lies around And holds your next clue safe and sound 

“Oh come on…” you muttered, “That’ ones obvious. Knife, the answer is knife…” You picked up your phone and shone it around the various surfaces of the kitchen and your eyes honed in on a wooden knife block containing a solitary knife. You crossed the room towards it and as you closed in on it, you noticed that the handle of the knife was an ornate silver filigree. It was no ordinary kitchen knife and as you pulled it form the block you realised it was in fact a dagger, antique by the looks of things. The blade was curved slightly, reaching a sharp point, the silver tarnished. But the more you looked at it, the more you suddenly became horribly aware that it wasn’t merely a dullness of colour at all. It was blood. 

“Dramatic…” you mumbled, and with a sigh you then realised there was no clue attached to it. Was this a distraction? A decoy? You were just about to stat ransacking drawers to find the actual knife you needed, when you glanced back at the block the dagger had been held in and noticed a flash of white peeking from underneath. Picking it up and moving it aside you smiled as you saw the same cursive writing, spelling out the word three. Seeing as you might as well play along, you used the dagger to slit the envelope open, tossing it back down on the counter as you read the next clue.

Many a Child on me they may play Any time be it night or day. My surface is hard, on it you can knock I have many keys, but can’t open a single lock…

“What has keys but doesn't open a lock?" You pondered aloud. Adjusting your cross-body strap, you sigh. Then the answer came to you, "a piano."

You fell silent, your mind racing to how the hell you were going to find a piano in this decrepit and yet enormous house. Then, your ears heard it. The subtle note from deep inside the house. It was a single key. But now that wasn't your concern, no, it wasn't the mice or the bugs or even the brown water. Your heart raced at the notion that someone was in fact in the house with you. 

"Alright, Lee, you were always one for a flare of the dramatics, let's see what you've got."

Step by step you followed the note that chimed every few steps and you found yourself beginning to wonder if it was a recording or if someone were really playing it, timing their play with the sound of your boots over the rotting floor. You wound your way through the narrow hall, ancient wall paper peeling from its tack, mastick and plaster falling away to reveal studs in places.  Finally, to your left you heard the key loud and clear. It was in that room. Steeling yourself for a possible encounter, you carefully pushed the sliding door away from its hinge. Your booted feet traipsed across the brittle carpet, dust swirling in the air in front of your face. Cobwebs adorned many of the surfaces and there were dirty white sheets covering the various pieces of furniture in the room. Apart from, that is, the large ornate grand piano that sat in the middle of the room. The stool in front of it suddenly jolted back and tilted toward you, making you scream at the  gracious invitation by an as of yet invisible host. 

“Get a grip Y/N” you mumbled to yourself. You were surprised to find just how much this place was starting to set your nerves on edge. You took a deep breath, the pounding of blood in your ears began to quiet and you took a look around the room. There was no one in there with you, you were alone. With slow, deliberate steps you moved towards the piano, your eyes sweeping over the mahogany surface, searching for an envelope with the next clue, but there was none to be found. The surface of the piano was thick with dust and grime, but as you scanned over it you suddenly stopped. On one of the white keys the dust was disturbed, as if it had been wiped away and you instantly realised that had to be the key that your so far elusive host must have been playing. You paused, biting at the nail on your thumb of you right hand, before you reached out with your left and tapped the key. The melodic note rang around the room, clearly, echoing in the silence and for some reason you were taken back to a part of the article you had been thinking about earlier that day, and how Detective Blanc had told you that he had ‘played a key’ during the various family interviews ‘to make my point without interruption’. It didn’t pass you by how fitting that actually was at that moment but you didn’t have much time to reflect on it, as you heard a creak and a grinding noise and you spun to your left to see a panel in the wall sliding open. It made you jump slightly, but this time you didn’t scream. 

Not for the first time, you had to admire the effort Lucas was going to here. It was clear he had a flare for the dramatic, anyone could see that from his films and interviews but this was pretty damned good. It was making you wonder how he was doing it. Was he somewhere watching, pressing buttons to enact the various parts of his show? Instinctively you glanced up, looking for a camera or something you were being monitored by but you found no evidence of anything. “Well, in for a penny…” you muttered, crossing towards the small hatch. It was just wide enough for you to get your hand into, but you really didn’t want to. You grabbed your torch and shone it into the hole, finding nothing but the envelope so deciding it was safe you reached in and pulled it out.

Sometimes coloured, sometimes plain sometimes frosted, sometimes stain Be you short or thin, or fat or tall, this simple invention, lets you look right through a wall

You pondered for a moment, before the answer came to you. Fairly quickly you might add. Feeling a little smug you smiled and cleared your throat “Window. It’s a window.”

Usually, at that point, something happened to point your attention to the place you should be looking but this time, there was nothing. Instinctively you looked out of the one on the wall by the piano, but as you stared at nothing but the darkness outside you realised that was too obvious. Just then your ears picked up a sound you couldn’t quite figure out, but it was familiar all the same. And then it came to you, it was the familiar click and clack of a skateboard, the wheels gliding over the brittle old floor and you span round in the direction it was coming from to see a window you hadn’t noticed before, this one was an ornate, stained glass window which bore some kind of flower design that faced directly out into the hall. 

He passed by slower than a flash but just enough to allow you to catch only a glimpse. You audibly gasped, your breath coming in a sharp intake of fright, because until then you had been alone on this chase. But it appeared you dramatic host had finally come out to play. He was merely a shadow, bulky in frame, tall and dressed all in black as he moved past but it was enough to puzzle you. You didn’t remember Lucas being that broad, or tall. With a frown you ran into the hall to catch him but saw nothing, and heard nothing, the only thing to indicate he had been there was a faint smell of the cedar and amber of what you assumed to be cologne. 

You paced quickly down the hall in the direction the figure had gone but as you passed the stairwell the light flickered on, instantly attracting your attention. You’d only briefly noticed the ornate staircase before, but with the lack of light you certainly hadn’t noticed the writing on the wall, dripping in fresh paint. Swallowing, as you mouth suddenly felt dry with fear you stepped onto the first stair, and as soon as you did you were plunged into almost complete black. Letting out a shriek as, once again, he’d managed to get the drop on you, you shook your head and reached for your phone, taking another few steps up so you were level with the next clue which you read aloud.

“Tonight is not all fright and fear, a trick or treat is waiting near, the bedroom holds a sweet surprise, there solve the clue to claim your prize”  you bit your lip and looked up at the top of the stairs, wondering when someone was going to jump out at you. Taking a deep breath, you made your way up, cringing at each creak your feet caused on the old warped wood, but it didn’t sway your determination to make it to your destination. Halfway up, a shadow flickered at the corner of your vision at the top on the landing and you froze, your mouth going dry once more. As you stood there, shining your light into the dark you caught the same scent from moments ago lingering in the air only this time it was stronger, far more powerful and you were able to denote even more of the notes within. Aalongside the amber and cedar your heightened senses picked up deep, earthy, sandalwood notes with a hint of citrus in the background.  And it was familiar for reasons beyond the fact you’d smelt it down stairs. But, as you’d surmised earlier, it was a cologne. Probably one worn by a few people you knew.

Yes that was it.

“Jesus Christ Y/N what has gotten into you?” You rolled your eyes and continued up the stairs, clearly your ‘Celebrity Host’ was once more nearby. You cautiously got to the top of the stairs and glanced around. Nothing. So turning to your left you entered the first room you found on the hall. It was empty bar a creepy looking doll that had been separated from its head which lay about a foot to the right. As you looked around the room, the wind intensified outside, the rustling of the leaves and branches became louder, as did the creaking of the house…and then you gulped, as you realised it wasn’t just the house that was creaking. In the corner of the room, the little chair had begun to rock, slowly. Blowing out a breath and shaking your head, you looked around at the thin strips of wallpaper which showed little trucks. Crayon markings scrambled upon the wall where wallpaper used to stick but other than that there was nothing in there bar some pretty good theatrics. You had to hand it to Lee, the creepy feel was fantastic and you were going to give him one hell of a write up for this. You took a while longer to take in the detail, smiling to yourself before you closed the door and headed to the one over the hallway. 

This room was a little lighter thanks to a lamp which stood on a nightstand. It wasn’t bright, by any means, but it was enough so that you could clearly see the bed in the middle of the room. And there, placed by the pillows was a thin box. On unsteady legs, you shuffled slowly towards the bed, the box before you making you quiver, your insides churning. A shaky hand tilted the lid open slowly, afraid something would pounce in a sneak attack. You shut your eyes ready to protect them in case a bat or bugs flew at you and when nothing happened, you opened them slowly and inspected the boxes contents. There was no envelope this time, just copy of a newspaper. Your newspaper. And you felt your blood run cold as you recognise the bold headline across the top. Murder, He Wrote: A twisted tale of Inheritance, Crime and Exoneration "Drysdale," you whispered in realization. But now, while you were well aware of what the article meant and who it was referring to, your brain shut down processing how on earth Lucas Lee and Ransom could possibly be connected. Your breathing deepened and you moved to pick up the article, but then the lid to the box caught your eye and you froze, for on the inside of the lid was another clue, only this one was a straight forward question which was spelled out using cut-out letters from the newspaper in question.

I’m light as a feather, yet the strongest person can’t hold me for five minutes. What am I?

You froze, for the answer was simple. Breath. 

And that was it, you needed to get out. You started to back away from the bed, but before you had so much as made it 3 steps you collided with something hard. A forceful arm across your front pinned you to a firm and broad chest that engulfed your frame while a cloth with a distinct smell and cool moisture covered your airways.

"Surprise" The voice in your ear, calm, deep and known, was all you heard before nothing consumed you.  

*****

When Y/N went limp in his arms, Ransom laid her across the bed only leaving the room to hurriedly cover his tracks, blowing out candles and removing any trace of her that had been in the house. His time as his grandfather's research assistant gave him far more experience than it should have. When he returned to the bedroom she was still out cold but light as a feather as he carried her downstairs and out the back door to the awaiting SUV, smug that his plan had gone so well.

But then, didn’t everything for him? He was Ransom Drysdale, and he was fucking untouchable.

He drove away from the scene of his new crime towards the city, driving through the dead of night, on the beltway, and continued twenty minutes outside downtown Boston before pulling into the garage of a large red cedar and quartzite home. He killed the engine and closed the garage door, pulling Y/N from the seat she was slumped in when it was clear to do so.

He couldn't be seen, he wouldn't be seen. He carried her inside the spacious home, his boots tapping heavily against the dark marble floor of the kitchen and finally the lush carpeted staircase that wound down into the basement.

This is where he laid her, in the basement, on a bed, but not just any bed, the one that would now become hers. He adjusted the lighting in the space, low enough not to disturb her, but bright enough to give the room a glow so he could finish what he'd set out to do. In the shock of the struggle in the bedroom, she’d dropped her phone and he’d made sure to smash it long before he left the haunted house, making sure there'd be no device to track her. He'd already disposed of her car while she was playing his little game, every loose end as far as he could see was tied up.

And now she was all his. 

He brushed the hair away from Y/N’s face where it had fallen over her eyes.  With gloved hands he manoeuvred her undone, black woollen coat off her body, leaving her in the bottle green turtle neck sweater dress and thick tights she was wearing before he tossed it over the chair in the corner of the room and then undid the zips on her brown suede knee high boots. He dropped them to the floor, kicking them towards the same corner with the equal carelessness he’d shown her coat. With a final meticulous movement he rearranged her on the bed, so he’d appear more comfortable and just before he left the room, he wrapped the cool, metallic cuff around the ankle. It locked in place with a clink and with a final glance at her still unconscious form, he turned and exited the room, the door latching shut and with the snap of the deadbolt he locked her in.

*****

Your head pounded, your nose burned and your mouth felt dry with the faintest taste of something foul lingering as you swallowed. The light was low but still your eyes ached. You tried to decipher exactly what the hell had happened to you while you got your bearings. You tried to sit up but your body felt heavy, the soft bed you now realized you were lying on was not your own. Your breathing rapidly increased as you started to move in fear but a clink caused a screech to escape your throat. You felt the weight of the cuff around your ankle and a full panic set it.

Your night flashed quickly through your glutamate and adrenaline flooded brain

You remembered getting the email from the Haunted Mansion supposedly hosted by Lucas Lee. You had arrived and were sent on what you thought was a fun and exhilarating maze littered with clues and riddles and then you remembered the last piece of the puzzle. You gasped as you remembered how his breath felt hot on your skin and how his voice registered in your mind.

"Drysdale," you repeated the last word you had spoken in a shaky, frightful voice. "No."

Rage and fear collided in your chest as you screamed out the only thing you could think of, "HELP!" A strangled sound left your chest followed by another cry out for help, "Please, someone, HELP!" 

The door to your room, now coming into focus around you, flew open and there he stood, smug smirk, raging ocean blue eyes, hair neatly in place, dismantling frame clothed in a black sweater and dark denim, heavy footfalls sounding against the thick carpet under his feet. 

"Nice to see someone's awake," Ransom deadpanned.

You stared for a brief moment and screamed for help again, louder, and louder, and louder until you felt your voice crack and strain, your cords burning as the sound shattered away. 

"Are you done?" He cocked his head to the side and folded his arms across his chest as he stood firm and tall in front of the bed.

"What the hell are you doing? Why am I here?" It hurt to speak but you had to ask. 

“Because I want you here, Sweetheart.”

"I...I'm not, don't call me that," you spat defiantly as he moved closer, taking you in, his predatory eyes moving over your body. This was it, you were going to die all because some trust fund prick was a hurt baby about an article (that you forcibly apologized for) revealing the sick and sadistic truth about him, his family, money and the justice system. 

"Are you gonna kill me?” You watched him carefully as he crossed the room towards you, trying to keep your voice calm so as not to betray the utter fear that was coursing through your veins at the fact you were trapped, fuck knows where, shackled to a bed with a murderer being your captor. “That's what this is about, right? My apology wasn't enough?"

"Your apology was forced bullshit.” He responded, his voice carried a hint of amusement, because of course, this was all a game to him. “You smeared my name, dragged my reputation though the mud and you expected an apology like that, half assed and full of more crap than your original hatchet piece, to be enough?" He was standing damn near over you now, a hand moving up your leg that was held by the cuff, your body frozen in a confused silent argument of fight or flight.

"You... Killed... Him." You grit out through clenched teeth, and his hand was on your throat before you finished your breath, squeezing just enough to make a point.

"No. I. Didn't." He lied and you had to hand it to him, a lesser person might have bought the garbage he was talking, because he was good at it. Lying must have been enough of a second nature for him that he actually believed everything he said himself. But then again, it wasn't actually a lie was it? Sure, he'd planned on indirectly killing Harlan and that plan had backfired and Harlan had actually slit his own throat. So at most he was indirectly responsible for his death, but none of that had stuck with the prosecution and so now here he was, a free man.

A struggled chuckle came from your tightened throat, "Jesus Christ, you actually believe your own bull shit don't you?"

"You've got a fucking mouth on you," he breathed as his body loomed ominously over the bed and your frame, tiny in comparison to his.

You swallowed, feeling the hard lump strain to pass his grip, "Not really, you just don't like hearing the truth."

His eyes bored into yours and you struggled for breath as his hand constricted around your neck whilst he squeezed a little harder "Oh shut up Y/N."

"Or what, Hugh?" You croaked. 

A little flash of anger tore through his ocean blue eyes like lightning in a storm. His eyes bored into yours as you fought to swallow. 

"Or I'll shut you up myself."

"Try me, you son of a...." You didn't expect his lips to cover yours but they did. Unexpectedly warm and soft, despite the painfully harsh kiss. You managed to pull away but his hand still gripped at your throat and you felt the fear constricting your chest. But you were damned if you were going to show him a shred of weakness. 

“You’re an asshole, Hugh…” It was all you had, the only thing you could use in your arsenal given your situation. You still had your voice. And you’d noticed that for whatever reason he appeared to hate that name.

“Don’t... fucking call me that!” his voice rose to a loud, angry instruction, apoplectic rage seeping from him to you, and it was almost stifling.

“Or what? You'll kill me?” your voice rose in both volume and pitch as your desperation began to show. “We both know you're gonna do that once you've fulfilled whatever sick, twisted little fantasy this is. What are you waiting for, Hugh? Huh?”

Ransom scoffed, "Kill you, no, see I'm gonna teach you a lesson. One about how money and status get you anything you want.”

You frowned, as you looked into his icy blue eyes, utterly confused “Anything you want? What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You'll see Princess” was the sole explanation you got as he knelt between your legs.

You stayed stock still as large and surprisingly gentle hands trailed your curves up the outside of your thighs to your hips. As he reached the hem of your sweater dress he paused as you wrapped your hands around his wrists.

"Don't" you squeezed, attempting to stop his wrists and close your legs.

“This will be much easier if you just play-along, sweetheart” he muttered as he pressed his lips to your neck. You let go of his wrists and raised your hands, laying them over the wool of his cable knit, palms flat against the plain of muscle as you attempted to push him off.

“I said no.” you tried to keep your voice stern, despite the fact you were fighting back the fear and sadness at the realization of his task was now at hand. 

His large hands smoothed over your dress, cupping your breasts and he let out a moan as you bit back the bile in your throat that was threatening to spill from your mouth. You pushed harder trying to force him off of you but it was of no use, his broad frame caged you in, engulfing you under him.

“I don’t want to hurt you, but I will if I have to.” He ground out, his lips inches from your ear as he nipped at your skin. He was impressively strong and balanced, his weight even through his body as he kept his knees between your legs, a hand against your breast and the other stroking your sides and up your thigh. All the while, his lips sucked at your neck, teeth grazing your pulse point as you turned your head away, tears filling your eyes

"Please, stop," you managed. "Hugh, stop!"

“I told you not to call me that.” He growled against your skin and pulled back, his eyes blazing as they locked on to yours. In sheer desperation, you managed to wrench a free hand from between you and gave him a slap, nails biting at his skin. Instantly you knew you’d pissed him off. His nostrils flared, his jaw set and as his eyes filled with fire and rage.

And you knew then, you were in for it.

“Bitch…” he snarled as he raised his left hand to his face where you had struck him, and then both his hands grabbed yours, yanking your arms up, pinning them above your head. You bucked upwards, violently in an attempt to shake him off, but it was futile. He was far too strong. His grip on your wrists grew tighter and despite yourself you let out a small whimper of fear.

In one hand he had the ability to cuff both of your wrists and he did so while his other grabbed at your dress, shoving it further up your body, fingers curling over the waist of your tights and panties, a handful of the material fisted in his palm. They wouldn't slide down quick enough and you felt your body lift away from the mattress slightly as he ripped away the material, the snap burning your skin. You fought, boy did you fight. You had no control of your hands or arms as he had them easily pinned, but your legs and the rest of your body gave as good as they could. You thrashed from side to side all the time screaming your objections. You drew your knees up to your chest in an attempt to buck him off. You screamed protests, threw every insult you had at him, but it was no use. He was simply too strong.

He didn't even bother with his belt or button, he just unzipped the flies on his jeans, pulled his solid cock free and slid in. You were wetter than you expected to be, but it still burned with friction and ached from the thick stretch against your tight walls. It hurt, definitely hurt.

"You know you want this. I know you want this." He rasped as he pulled out before thrusting back in, his face twisted in a look that was halfway between being smug and satisfied. Just looking at him made you feel sick but for some reason you were unable to look away as he continued his slow assault, before he picked up the pace slightly, his groans of satisfaction filling the room as he bottomed out, balls deep and it was at that point you closed your eyes and tried to block out what he was doing to you. But try as you might to remain mentally detached from the situation, your body was anything but. And the more he moved in and out of you, the more you could feel your physical reactions. You were powerless to stop them and the heat between your legs and in between your belly was spiking with each thrust into you.

It felt good. And you knew it shouldn’t. So you fought it, but eventually, you couldn't fight it anymore, not with  the way his thick cock filled you, velvety smooth skin sliding in and out of your defiant core. You didn't want to cum, but your body told your brain it was going to and Ransom nearly puffed his chest as he fucked you into your body's submission. 

"You're gonna fucking cum, aren't you Princess? I can feel it," he ground out, chasing his own release. You remained silent, breathing heavily as your insides coiled and tightened. "Fucking tight ass pussy," he gritted. You refused to cry out, not wanting to give him anything you were able not to, and it took everything you had to remain silent. In desperation, to quell the cry that was rising from your throat, you bit your tongue, tasting the coppery taste of blood in your mouth as you came hard around his cock.

“Fuck, yeah…see…” Ransom’s hips began to move faster, and then with a sudden movement he pulled out of you, making you wince involuntarily at the sting. He shot his load all over your thighs, a growl bubbling from his throat, the warmth of his release trickling down your leg made you feel even more dirty than you already did. 

“Not so fucking smart are we now, huh, miss Investigative Reporter…” his snap was snide, and childish, but you knew he couldn’t help himself. Your head remained defiantly in its position on the pillow, turned to the right, eyes focussed on a spot on the wall. “Look at me, bitch.”

When you didn’t do as he asked, he grabbed your chin bruisingly, making you wince as he pulled your face round so he could see you. You knew he would be able to see the tears on your face, and you hated that. Hated that he would see how much he’d hurt you, scared you even, 

His hand let go of your face and you stared at him, swallowing, trying to gather your voice in your painfully dry throat. 

"That's all you got? You're a fucking child, Drysdale. It's why you’re doing this." You said, your voice trembling and croaking from the fear and exertion of what he had just put you through and you shook your head. “You’re a fucking man child with mommy and daddy issues. A spoilt, little whiney brat who can’t bear to be told no.”

That struck a nerve, you could tell, as his jaw clenched tight and his fists clenched around the sheets by your side to the point they were shaking. He grabbed your chin once more with his right hand and pinned your face still, forcing your eyes to look back at his 

“You'll be begging me to accept your apology.” He snarled, his face contorted in rage “You'll see who the whiney child is soon enough. I promise Princess, it's not me”

As you looked at him, you felt your anger starting to simmer. This fucking ass hole had just raped you, and he had the gall to be saying you were going to tell him that you were sorry. No chance in hell. You knew you were screwed, literally and figuratively. Whilst he had you captive behind a bolted door, shackled to a bed you had nowhere to go, he knew that you knew that too and you could see it in his face as a smug smirk flickered on his lips. Well fuck this, if you were going down it was with a fight. With a sudden movement, that caught him off guard you moved your head slightly as much as you could in his painful grip, and spat right in his face.

Ransom blinked, his anger morphing to shock, then back to fury once more as he released your face and with a flash of his hand he back handed you straight across the face. The blow to your right cheek snapped your head to the left, sucking the breath from your lungs and leaving you a little dazed.

“Fuck you.” He sneered as he rose to his feet, wiping his face. Silently he rearranged his pants, tucking his now soft cock back inside them, and swept from the room, locking the door behind him.

***** Ransom stormed up the steps to the kitchen of the house, slamming the top door behind him and bolting that one shut too. He was furious that little bitch had scratched him and no doubt marked his face. He strode over the marble tiles of the room and walked into the large hallway and across into the den. He made his way straight to the bar, poured himself a healthy measure of good scotch, slopping a little on the dark wooden counter, before he glanced up at the large mirrored surface of the bar behind the shelves.

He could make out 3 vivid red lines down his left cheek where she’d dug her nails into his flesh and his jaw clenched. His hair was out of place, his cheeks flushed and his normally cold eyes were blazing with anger. But as he stood there staring at his dishevelled reflection, he knew it wasn’t the fact she’d scratched or spat at him that was pissing him off so much. It was the fact she had persistently voiced a name he despised, one that was used to control those lower than him in his every-day life. One reserved for The Help, for outsiders. It reminded him of his family, of his mother and father, the two people in his life who should have loved him unconditionally but instead had him out of ‘duty’ and had taken every opportunity to pass him off into the care of others they could. It reminded him of Walt persistently telling him he was a no-one, that he would amount to nothing over than a trust-fund baby. 

It reminded him of Harlan. The one person in that entire fucked up patriarchy that had shown him an ounce of care. But who had screwed him over in the end. The anger that had been simmering inside him boiled over, the blood pumped into his ear and with an angry yell and an almost involuntary action Ransom hurled the glass tumbler straight at the wall where it smashed against the tasteful silver and white wallpaper, the 25 year old single malt trickling down the wall…just like the tears and trickled down Y/N’s cheeks as he’d forced her to look at him whilst he took what was his. 

As she’d glared up at him he’d noticed a fierceness in her eyes that he was surprised to find had unnerved him a little, because she clearly wasn’t going to be as easy to break as he thought. 

“Fuck it.” He mumbled to himself, grabbing the bottle from the bar before he turned and left the room, taking a large swig as he went, the burn in his throat going someway to settling his nerves.

This would work out, because he was Ransom fucking Drysdale, a man who always got what he wanted in the end, and she was going to be no exception.

**** WIYPT Tag List:

Everything

@momobaby227 @marvelfansworld @cobalt-gear @djeniiscorner @ayamenimthiriel @coldmuffinbanditshoe @nerdofthefandoms @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @southerngracela @goldenfightergir @kellymat @what-just-happened-bro @jennmurawski13 @joannaliceevans-fanficblog @jtargaryen18 @redhairedfeistynerd @charmed-asylum @saiyanprincessswanie @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @jhayes6984 @anika-ann @icanfeelastormbrewing @gigglegirl77 @princess-evans-addict @mes-2016 @theladybiers @void-hoechlin 

Ransom Drysdale

@patzammit @icandothisallday @capsiclewinter​ @this-is-serenaa​ @alexakeyloveloki​ @perplexed3001​ @twittytelly​ @kelbabyblue​ @maan24​

If your name appears above but the tag isn’t live please let me know.

[rioterrl]

Chapter 1 - Labor Friends

                                      “What does a mirror look at?”                                                   -Frank Herbert

        I see him at work every day. That part is hard. Sometimes, it is exciting...the part about it being hard-and I don't mean that in a double entendre way. I don't know any male dinosaurs who are intimately involved with other male dinosaurs. I've seen it on television occasionally, but it often seems to be used as a source for comedy. I laugh along with the studio audience when the masculinity obsessed head of the household side eyes a male character with a lisp on his tongue and flamboyance about his behavior. "Peculiar" comes up in One Flew Over the Pterodactyl's Nest. Queer is another of these words, and certainly more common nowadays. It's considered...     strange...         odd...             suspicious...                 abnormal...                     or even...                     ...ridiculous behavior... to be a man who is attracted to...other men.

        The main point driving this concept seems to be the fact that women like men and therefor a man liking a man is basically a man behaving like a woman. It's funny stuff. I don't know why I laugh at it. I don't understand the humor on any level beyond shock. But once the shock wears off, it just seems like it's nobody's god damn business who consents to intimacy with who. And for that matter, who cares which scaly sack of bones and meat behaves as a woman and which scaly sack of bones and meat behaves as a man? It's not an attack on masculinity, I can tell you that much. My masculinity is an undeniable part of who I am, and my masculinity informs me that anyone who would bother another free citizen of Pangea about what they do with their free time as an adult who is harming no one is a small dinosaur. A coward. 

        I see him at work everyday. 

        I also see him after work more often than not, as he has been my best friend for more than half of my life. I used to look at him as long as I could without being noticed by him or anyone else. It felt as though it was important for my own inner monologue that I hold his face in frame while I wonder if he ever thinks about me in the way that I try not to think about him. It's genuinely hard to tell. 

        Roy is a Tyrannosaurus Rex. He's strong, confident, funny, kind, thoughtful, but...he's not very bright. I feel like if Roy has never had a thought about another man, it was simply because the idea had not entered in head through outside suggestion. I think most dinosaurs like member of the opposite sex almost exclusively because that's what they were taught. WE were all taught this simply because it's how to keep propagating all of the dinosaur species, or whatever it's called. We're at a point in our society now where it's becoming clear that we are not going extinct anytime soon. Plus, the majority of men I know commonly engage in sex with their wives that involves contraceptives and pulling out. This doesn't provide life to a baby any more than two men having sex does.        

        I decided that today will be the day that I attempt to get Roy into a conversation about sex between men just to see what his response is. He invited me over after work to help him set up his new TV set. He got one of those new big screen TVs that could probably literally fit a football game inside them. I'm talking live, field and all.

        Roy checked the TV remote to see if we installed everything correctly, and then upon confirmation that everything was as smooth as fossilized amber, we high fived and struck our cocky "we are men and we can do anything" poses. At leat, that's what I felt like we were doing. Maybe Roy doesn't think about things the way that I do. It's not that I don't naturally feel manly. I assure you, I am drawn to manly behaviors by an innate drive...and impulse. But the fact that I'm also drawn to the manly behaviors of others...I guess I'm not as disconnected from the shame projected by many members of our society as I would like to be. I tend to point out things like gendered behavior. I tend to notice when that behavior fits like a gloves, or when, as in my case, it's a bit more awkward and uncertain.

        I realized that Roy had been flipping channels for a couple of minutes now as I had seen the same channel pass multiple times...and these new boob tubes get about 18 channels. at least I wonder if he was lost in thought too. I was done with the beating around the bush, though. That's not the kind of man I am. "Roy, let me ask you something." I stated, calmly. "You give me no choice," joked Roy, halfway glancing at me for a moment while still flipping through the channels. I often have to choke back the words that I want to say to Roy, now that I've let the tension build so damn much. (please pin me to the ground)  "Uhh...have you ever met a gay dinosaur before?"

        "Yes, this morning in the mirror."

        "Wait, really?!" I blurted out, as my other senses caught up with the fact that Earl offered a small chuckle as he had made the comment. What was the joke? I looked around the room we were in, scanning all of Roy's manners with interest. The mirrors throughout his house seem to behave fairly normal, so he was definitely saying that he was the gay dinosaur he saw in the mirror this morning. Rowdy caterpillars turn into rowdy butterflies in my stomach, as Roy interjects.

        "Doesn't gay mean happy?" (to me, yes) "Oh, haha. I guess it does. Or used to. Interesting how words evolve, huh?"

        "I don't know, Earl. I don't really believe in evolution. Lest you forget about what we learned every summer at bible camp."

        As soon as the words, "bible camp" had left Roy's full lips, I was sucked back 30 years into a full on "this is a movie" flashback. I could see 10-year-old me sitting in a chair, and the chair was a part of a whole circle of chairs, all full of young dinosaurs, some of which I remember still and some of which are composite images constructed by my brain to fill in the gaps in my memory. I can also see Roy sitting next to me. Young Roy and young me were both giggling loudly, along with the other kids. Everyone looked as though they had just came to am abrupt stop and fell into their chairs a split second before I tuned into the memory. Some dorky looking high school aged dinosaur pressed a button on a boombox and a silly song came on, very loudly, and the kids jumped up and started sprinting in circles around the chairs. Ah yes, musical chairs back at bible camp. If I learned anything at bible camp, it was how to prioritize my seat over everyone else's. And also, this:

        The music stopped and I watched as 10-year-old Earl and Roy went for the same chair at the same time and completely knocked it over, falling onto each other. It wears Roy falling onto me even though I was certain the last time I had the memory that I was the one who fell onto him. I guess it's just hard to really remember fully, because at that point nothing else existed except for his eyes which were looking into mine, full of smiles. We kissed and withdrew from each other with immediacy as we remembered who we were and that the whole class would surely be staring at the two guys who just fell in what had to be a hilarious way, but as we looked around we noticed that everyone else had experienced similar falls, and were preoccupied with their own resulting fits of laughter and joy. The room dissolved and I was spit back out in Roy's living room as he was finishing up some kind of comment he wanted to make about intelligent design or whatever. He didn't seem to notice that I had mentally checked out for a minute to remember the first time we kissed.

        I'm sure Roy doesn't think about it.  

        Or at least not like I think about it.

        I think about it all of the time.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[paws-bells]

Reader’s Questionnaire

Got tagged by: @analyticritic​ (danke, Steph!!) 

1. Which book has been on your shelves the longest?

I just cleared my shelves a while ago and gave away the books that I no longer read (or already have digital copies of), but the oldest books (physical copies) that I had were my Enid Blyton collection and my Grimm's Fairy Tales series from wayyyy back when I was a little kid.

2. What is your current read, your last read, and the book you’ll read next?

Currently, I'm not reading anything. There's an ebb and flow to my reading habits. Either I MUST READ ALL THE BOOKS, or I fall into a dry spell where I don't touch any for months. I'm currently in the 'dry spell' part of the cycle, and coincidentally, this is also the period of time where my writing becomes very prolific, lol. 

The last book I (re)read was Catch 22 by Joseph Heller. 

The next book I'll read next...eh. It depends on when my dry spell will end, really! 

3. Which book does everyone like and you hated?

Twilight. I didn't make enough headway into the series to actually comment on the plot, but I just could not get into the narrative style, unfortunately. I won't say that I hated the book (haven't really come across any book that I really hated, per se) but I just could not get into it.

4. Which book do you keep telling yourself you’ll read, but you probably won’t?

Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings. Actually, I already read ‘The Fellowship of the Ring’ and ‘The Two Towers’ years ago but I don’t think I’ll ever follow up with ‘The Return of the King,’ mainly because I’ve already watched the movie trilogy and have been thoroughly spoiled plot-wise, lol. 

5. Which book are you saving for “retirement”?

I’m a person who has no ability whatsoever to observe delayed gratification. I don’t think it’s possible to save any book that I’m hankering to read all the way till retirement, haha.

6. Last page: read it first or wait till the end?

If I ever read the last page first, the probability of my picking up the book to read from beginning to end immediately drops to the single digit percentile, lol. 

7. Acknowledgements: waste of ink and paper or interesting aside?

I like reading acknowledgements. Usually they are just dedications but sometimes I find some interesting, witty anecdotes that are pretty amusing, and those are my favorite kinds of acknowledgements.  

8. Which book character would you switch places with?

Seriously? Probably none. I’m a reader, not a doer!! 

9. Do you have a book that reminds you of something specific in your life (a person, a place, a time)?

I don’t have any specific memories tied to any special book, really. I have been reading for as long as I can recall; books have always been a constant source of companionship and comfort in my life. 

I remember libraries, bookstores, comic shops and spending all my weekends happily cooped up in those places. I remember hauling home entire bags of books from the library to tide me over during the weekdays only to repeat the process all over again when the following Saturday trundles up, but that’s about it. Good times. 

10. Name a book you acquired in some interesting way.

My copy of Tamora Pierce’s Lady Knight was a recycled hardcover that I bought from the local library. Every year, they retire older/worn books from the library archives and put them up for sale for a mere pittance/donation. I remember being very happy because it was such a lucky find (for me). 

11. Have you ever given away a book for a special reason to a special person?

Nope. I’ve never given books specifically to anyone before (mainly because nobody around me actually freaking reads for a hobby!!). Donated a whole bunch to the Salvation Army, yes. But not really for any special reason other than the fact that I thought they would be better off being read and loved by other people rather than just sitting on my shelves, collecting dust. 

12. Which book has been with you to the most places?

The entire Tamora Pierce’s Tortall series, probably. Especially ‘The Protector of the Small’ quartet. 

13. Any “required reading” you hated in high school that wasn’t so bad ten years later?

I didn’t had any ‘required reading’ to do in high school, lol. I did read Shakespeare’s ‘The Merchant of Venice’ for a literature elective, but I quite liked it. Probably one of my favorite works of his. 

14. What is the strangest item you’ve ever found in a book?

Not really something very strange, but I’ve found forgotten bookmarks in library books before! I don’t take them, though. I just return everything as I’ve received them, book, bookmarks and all. I hope those bookmarks find their way back to their owners...

15. Used or brand new?

Brand new books are really nice to touch and pretty to look at on the shelves, but I prefer reading used copies, mainly because the latter have already been well seasoned and I don’t need to keep fighting the rigid spines (the problem with new books) to keep my page! 

16. Stephen King: Literary genius or opiate of the masses?

I’m not a hardcore fan of Stephen King, though mainly because horror isn’t my preferred genre to read. That said. I’ve read ‘Carrie,’ and I’ve read ‘Cujo,’ and I’ve read ‘Christine,’ and it says something about King’s writing style that I can still remember the plots even though it has been more or less been fifteen years since I’ve last touched those books. (YES, I’m old, I know!!) 

17. Have you ever seen a movie you liked better than the book?

Do Disney cartoon adaptations count? Beauty and the Beast, the Little Mermaid, the Lion King, Mulan... I like all of them! 

...Maybe except Frozen, since it was supposed to be some adaptation of ‘The Snow Queen’ so I was really disappointed when I realized that the plot had little resemblance to the actual fairy tale.  

18. Conversely, which book should NEVER have been introduced to celluloid?

Er. I usually avoid watching movie adaptations from books that I’ve read for this exact reason. Basically, if I watch something, I won’t read it. If I read something, I won’t watch it, lol.  

19. Have you ever read a book that’s made you hungry, cookbooks being excluded from this question?

Well, fanfics aren’t exactly books per se, but I think they are close enough. Every time I read Naruto fanfics, I always get a fierce hankering for ramen, haha. 

20. Who is the person whose book advice you’ll always take?

I haven’t really asked anyone for book advice, tbh. Actually, I’m also likely the most prolific reader that I know of everyone else around me (irl at least), so my advice (or rule of thumb) when reading is: 1) Don’t force yourself to finish something if you don’t like it and, 2) Don’t be ashamed to read whatever you want!

Tagging: Whoever wants to do it!! 

[justanothercinemaniac]

Epic Movie (Re)Watch #140 - Singin’ in the Rain

Spoilers below

Have I seen it before: Yes

Did I like it then: Yes.

Do I remember it: Yes.

Did I see it in theaters: No.

Format: Blu-ray

This post is dedicated to @hyla-brook, as I can no longer watch this movie without thinking of my friend.

1) This film is not only one of the best movie musicals of all time, but one of the best movies of all time period. More on that coming up.

2) The opening credits include the line, “Suggested by the song...” In fact, the entire film was written AFTER the songs with only two exceptions (“Moses” and “Make ‘Em Laugh”), with all the other songs already being released and known to the world at the time. This effectively makes Singin’ in the Rain one of the earliest karaoke musicals (alá Rock of Ages), but today the songs are known largely if not exclusively because of the long lasting popularity of this film.

3) The backstory given by Don (Gene Kelly) is a wonderful opening to the film for almost countless reasons.

For one, we get a strong establishment of the friendship and loyalty which exists between Don and Cosmo (Donald O’Connor) as relationship as important to the film as Don’s love with Kathy. We also get a clear establishment of the film’s sense of humor, giving us a nice juxtaposition of expectations vs reality (“Dignity, always dignity.”) and incredible slapstick moments. It is also one of the most accurate portrayals of how someone finds success in Hollywood: through an endless stream of shit jobs in the hopes that you’ll be noticed. Kelly’s and O’Connor’s comedic brilliance are on full display, and we also get our fist inkling of the tumultuous relationships between Don and Lina.

Don [after he gets a lead in a movie, to Lina who was a jerk before]: “Are you doing anything tonight, Ms. Lamont? [She shakes her head no.] That’s funny...I’m busy.”

4) In case you ever think Hollywood making normal people feel self conscious about themselves is a modern invention:

Female Movie Patron [while Lina is onscreen]: “She’s so refined. I think I’ll kill myself.”

(GIF originally posted by @casey-jones)

5) Lina Lamont.

Lina’s character is established immediately from the second she opens her mouth: drunk on power, more than a bit of a moron, and a selfish jerk. She’s hysterical and Jean Hagen totally loses herself in the character. No, that’s not Hagen’s normal speaking voice, but you thought it didn’t you? That’s how incredible she is in the role, and it is easy to forget how much brilliance she shows off when compared to the trio of Kelly, O’Connor, and Debbie Reynolds. This film wouldn’t be nearly the classic it is without Jean Hagen as Lina Lamont.

6) In case there was any question: I am Cosmo.

Studio Rep [about Lina]: “The studio has to keep their stars from looking ridiculous at any cost.”

Don: “No one’s got that much money.”

7) There are going to be so many Cosmo quotes in this recap, I’m just warning you. Because, you know, I’m Cosmo basically.

Don [being swarmed by fans]: “Hey Cos, do something! Call me a cab!”

Cosmo: “Okay, you’re a cab!”

8) Debbie Reynolds as Kathy Seldon.

What on earth can I say about one of the greatest actresses of all time in only her fourth credited screen real knocking it out of the park? I honestly don’t know but I’ll try to figure it out as I type. Reynolds is...perfection. In a trio of incredible performances I think she may give the strongest. Her chemistry with Kelly is great, subtle, trusting, and she does just such a wonderful job of making Kathy an amazing character. She’s not some manic pixie dream girl. She has her own desires, her own dreams, her own sacrifices she’s willing to make. Reynolds is able to portray Kathy as honestly good while still remaining interesting, honestly optimistic without being too naive or annoying, and honesty is just the word to apply to Reynolds’ whole work in the film. I love it.

9) One of the things I LOVE about this film is that Don and Kathy are not a “love at first sight” type of relationship. Don’s hitting on her is obviously because he’s a cad, she shuts him down, and then they’re able to have this unique conflict with each other where they both sort of act like jerks. Yet later they develop an honest connection with and affection for each other in such little time, it speaks greatly to the chemistry of the performers. One of my favorite love stories from this era of cinema.

10) The advent of the talkies are captured pretty accurately in this film. Everyone is skeptical about it, thinks it’ll be a fad, but the few likes Cosmo and studio head RF Simpson see how it could (and probably will be) the future.

11) I don’t think there is a better showcase for Donald O’Connor’s skills as a physical comedian than in “Make ‘Em Laugh”.

According to IMDb:

Donald O'Connor recalled, "I was smoking four packs of cigarettes a day then, and getting up those walls was murder. They had to bank one wall so I could make it up and then through another wall. We filmed that whole sequence in one day. We did it on a concrete floor. My body just had to absorb this tremendous shock. Things were building to such a crescendo that I thought I'd have to commit suicide for the ending. I came back on the set three days later. All the grips applauded. [Gene Kelly] applauded, told me what a great number it was. Then Gene said, "Do you think you could do that number again?" I said, "Sure, any time". He said, "Well, we're going to have to do it again tomorrow". No one had checked the aperture of the camera and they fogged out all the film. So the next day I did it again! By the end my feet and ankles were a mass of bruises."

The entire number is just packed full of classic Charlie Chaplin or Buster Keaton style gags all done to a fast pace number and it gets to the reason this old school movie musical has lasted the test of time where others have failed:

Most old school movie musicals have songs which don’t serve the film AT ALL they could be totally skipped and nothing would change. In some respects this film is the same. HOWEVER: the numbers are just so wildly and fantastically fun and entertaining that you are never bored by watching them. You are just so focused on what is going on and enjoying it so damn much you wouldn’t dream of skipping it (for the most part). THAT is why this film is such a classic. THAT is why it stands the test of time.

12)

RF [after pitching a talkie to Don]: “Lockwood and Lamont! They talk!”

Lina: “Of course we talk! Don’t everybody?”

Man RF, you did NOT think that through.

13) For me, “Beautiful Girls” is always the number I want to skip. It just is not nearly as entertaining as some of the other ones. It does nothing for me.

(GIF source unknown [if this is your GIF please let me know].)

14) Be still my beating heart.

Don: “Kathy I’m trying to say something to you but I’m such a ham. I guess I’m unable to without the proper setting.”

My heart doesn’t get mushy romantic for much, but "You Were Meant For Me”...It is just so beautifully staged, the lighting and setting is incredible, and Kelly is able to portray such honest emotion in the song that...I LOVE IT!

15) “Moses” is another example of a number which really doesn’t serve the plot in anyway but is just so damn entertaining I don’t really care! Donald O’Connor is great again, and we get some nice bromantic fun!

16) We get like a solid ten minutes of this film’s excellent comedy in two back to back scenes: when the filmmakers are trying to deal with the sound equipment, and when they see just how poorly it worked in the final film. It’s accurate really to today too: audiences will forgive crappy visuals but if your sound is shit then your film is shit. I know this because I’ve directed a number of films with shit sound (most of them back in high school).

17) Don’s conflict is perfectly summed up in one line:

Don: “The picture’s a museum piece. I’m a museum piece.”

The film’s mostly a musical comedy so it’s easy to forget about Don’s conflict, but he’s an actor in a changing industry and his first encounter with Kathy had him questioning his skills. Everything he does for the movies in this film is driven by that issue.

18) “Good Morning”.

Another song which is totally superfluous and serves the plot in no real way, I totally love it. It shows the trio at their best together in a wildly fun and entertaining number. But it was a pain to shoot!

After they finished the "Good Morning" number, Debbie Reynolds had to be carried to her dressing room because she had burst some blood vessels in her feet. Despite her hard work on the "Good Morning" number, Gene Kelly decided that someone should dub her tap sounds, so he went into a dubbing room to dub the sound of her feet as well as his own.

During a TV interview Debbie Reynolds shared while filming "Good Morning" one of her feet was bleeding, requiring flesh-colored bandages beneath her hose. As the trio collapsed on the overturned sofa, she turned her head to Donald O'Connor and said, "Thank God that's over." Watch closely and you can see her say it during the dubbed jolly laughter.

Their effort yielded one of the best numbers in the film!

19) The iconic titular song/number: “Singin’ in the Rain”.

Pretty much everything you need to know about Kelly’s devotion and hardwork in the film can be summed up by this fact:

The "Singing in the Rain" number took all day to set up--and Gene Kelly was very ill (some say with a fever over 101). When it was all set up, Kelly insisted on doing a take--even though the blocking was only rudimentary (starting and ending positions only), and the director was ready to send him home. He ad-libbed most of it and it only took one take, which is what you see on film.

Kelly’s sheer joy and the memorable/simple imagery is what makes the number so iconic. It is truly relatable, and its existence makes walking in the rain just a bit less melancholy.

20) Hey, remember how I’m Cosmo?

RF: “Cosmo, remind me to give you a raise!”

Cosmo: “Oh RF!”

RF: “Yes?”

Cosmo: “Give me a raise.”

21) Okay, “Broadway Melody”...

“Broadway Melody” is THE most superfluous number in the film and honestly the one which could probably be cut. It is very entertaining - and much more engrossing than its equivalent in Kelly’s An American in Paris in my opinion - but it’s just so damn long! It works as it’s own short film. However the visuals are incredibly strong and Kelly is in top form, so it obviously doesn’t ruin the film. But honestly it is the song you are most easy to skip and keep watching.

22) Aww, these two...

Don [to Kathy]: “From now on there’s only one fan I’m worried about.”

23) So far Lina has been a funny antagonistic dunce in the film, but damn if at the end she doesn’t turn into a manipulative evil jerk. I LOVE IT! She shows off she’s smarter than she’s shown [at least a little], boosts her own public image, almost sabotages Kathy’s career, and tries to extort RF into giving her more power. It is the fact she flies so close to the sun which causes her downfall, but damn if she ain’t just EVIL!!!!!

24) According to IMDb:

In the "Would You" number, Kathy Selden (Debbie Reynolds) is dubbing the voice of Lina Lamont (Jean Hagen) because Lina's voice is shrill and screechy. However, it's not Reynolds who is really speaking, it's Jean Hagen herself, who actually had a beautiful deep, rich voice. So you have Jean Hagen dubbing Debbie Reynolds dubbing Jean Hagen. And when Debbie is supposedly dubbing Jean's singing of "Would You", the voice you hear singing actually belongs to Betty Noyes, who had a much richer singing voice than Debbie.

25) These three are just so happy to embarrass Lina.

26) Kathy’s teary eyed look at Don when she realizes he WASN’T being a total jerk by having her sing for Lina and in fact letting the whole world know who she is just...be still my heart.

I miss Debbie Reynolds.

Singin’ in the Rain is a classic of cinema. Even though it falls into the trope of songs which don’t advance the plot, the songs are just SO fun to watch! This film is pure entertainment, with great acting on all parts (especially from the trio of Kelly, O’Connor, and Reynolds) and just honest character writing. It’s SO good! Go watch it if you haven’t!

[demitgibbs]

Gay Adoration: Why We’re Crazy for Actress Zoe Kazan

Why aren’t more gay men professing their love to Zoe Kazan?

I wonder this after doing just that. I dote on the 33-year-old film and theater actress – star of “Ruby Sparks,” “Revolutionary Road” and HBO’s “Olive Kitteridge” – like she’s my best girlfriend. Like we have history. Like we sip cosmos and talk about what it was like to play Meryl Streep’s daughter in “It’s Complicated.”

I don’t know Kazan, but I love that she’s so committed to being the best LGBT ally she can be that she follows me on Twitter after ending the interview by telling me, “I will say, just FYI, if you ever feel like I’m not being the greatest ally, please write me on Twitter. I really do feel like I want to do the best job I can.”

I love her socially-conscious Twitter feed. Love her latest statement film, “The Big Sick,” based on the real courtship of comedian Kumail Nanjiani and his now-wife, Emily Gordon, and the turmoil it causes when his family discovers Emily is white. I love her longtime boyfriend, the also supremely talented Paul Dano. And when Kazan tells me she wants to shine a spotlight on gay actors and prefers a gay actor play her romantic interest should she ever play a lesbian role herself, I love that too.

“I have never had a gay man profess his love to me before,” Kazan demures, somehow not kidding.

Universal gay adoration is inevitable as Kazan calls on powerful, white, cisgender filmmakers to make a mainstream gay rom-com, and talks about Dano’s onscreen kiss with Daniel Radcliffe and her very human reason for advocating for the LGBT community.  

Q: Growing up in Los Angeles, California, what was your earliest connection to the LGBT community?

A: I think I was really lucky to – yes, to grow up in a neighborhood that was very diverse and inclusive, and to grow up in a family that had those values. I grew up in the ’80s and ’90s, not as progressive of a time as now. I’m sure children today have it a lot better. But I went to a really progressive school with a lot of gay teachers and that wasn’t treated special or different. It just… was. Yeah, it just was. And I had two teachers who died of AIDS in the early and mid ’90s and that was something that was talked about really openly at my school. The school advocated for them and there was a real warmth and inclusiveness. I grew up a bit outside of the reality of the world at large at that point, so when I got into high school – and, again, this was the ’90s – people would be like, “That’s so gay,” and it was a rude awakening.

Q: Is it fair to say that because of your upbringing you’re woke when it comes to gay issues and queer stuff?

A: It is to my benefit as a human that everyone has equal rights and that gay people are treated with respect in the world. That’s the way in which it feels like my issue too. It matters deeply to me. So, if that’s woke, then I guess so. Not a word I use personally but, yeah, go for it!

Q: In addition to a post regarding gay musician Perfume Genius on your Twitter…

A: Oh my god, I love Perfume Genius! Honestly, all I wanted was to go to his concert and Paul didn’t make it happen. It’s a real point of contention in our relationship right now.  

Q: Ha! You are socially and politically active on Twitter as well, with posts about Planned Parenthood, feminism and one regarding the lack of acknowledgement about Pride month from Trump and his administration. It seems like this is a part of you even though you’re not gay.

A: I care deeply about it. Part of that is, as a feminist, I always sort of rankle when people are like, “I have a mother, I have a daughter” – no, you should care about this because of basic fundamental rights for, like, a huge portion of our population. I feel the same way about LGBTQ relations where, like I said, those rights are important to me as a human.

After this administration came into power in November, one of the first things I thought about was actually what happened to gay people under Reagan – the way he ignored the AIDS crisis and how that resulted in so many more deaths, especially in the gay community. And I really felt this thing of, well, yes, our rights recovered from that and our society recovered, but there was a huge cost and not everyone made it. And I thought of that when people were saying, “We’ll get through these four years.” I thought, “Well, not everybody will get through it.” And I think a lot of Republicans think of Reagan as a beaming icon of Republicanism. In fact, during the Democratic Convention, Democrats kept referencing him as being a good example of Republican values that Democrats also shared and I was like, does no one remember the AIDS crisis? He f*cked up.

Q: We tend to forget what history told us.

A: And also what casual bigotry results in. We’re saying that right now with the rise of hate crimes in this country and what happened to that poor Muslim girl (17-year-old Nabra Hassanen was assaulted and killed on June 18 after leaving a Virginia mosque). I know that’s not the direct responsibility of our president, but I am 100 percent certain that the atmosphere of hate that he has engendered set in those man’s actions.

WATCH:

Q: Let’s talk about compassion, and how your new film, “The Big Sick,” is steeped in it. As a gay man, I found myself completely empathizing with these characters in ways that I didn’t think I would. For you, how do you think the overarching themes of forbidden love and familial acceptance of another’s partners may resonate with LGBT audiences?

A: One thing that really speaks so much to me about the film is how much Kumail loves his family. He loves them and part of what is dividing them is a generational divide and their relationship with religion. I would guess that a lot of gay people growing up in really religious communities might feel like their religion could be a source of division between them and their families based on what some Christians, for instance, think of gay people. There’s a part of you that feels like they’ll love you no matter what and there’s a part of you that feels like they might excommunicate you from the family. I’m very moved by the scene in which he tells them that he’s not going to leave his family after he reveals himself to them. It feels really potent to me and I’m glad it spoke to you.

Q: When do you think we can have two gay people as leads in a major romantic comedy?

A: There’s no reason that time can’t be right now. And considering the current climate in this country politically, vis-à-vis Muslims, this feels as risky a movie as a movie with two gay leads. Maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m wrong about that. But Kumail and Emily were brave and told their own story, and a lot of people took a chance on them and got behind them. And they just tried to do the best job they could of telling their story. They weren’t just striving for representation – they had one story they were burning to tell.

I would just encourage everyone out there who is like, “Maybe my story isn’t mainstream enough,” to just do it. Work really hard. They worked on this script for three years before they brought anybody else on. This movie was started because Kumail was at some standup thing that Judd Apatow saw him at and Judd came up to him and was like, “Come in and pitch me every story that you have.” And Kumail went in and pitched and Judd was like, “That’s the one.” We need our allies. Especially people in power like Judd – straight, white men. We need them to step up and be like, “I’m gonna help you tell your story.” So to all the dudes out there in power: I think everybody is hungry to see a story that hasn’t been told a million times, and truly there’s no reason that can’t be right now for many more different kinds of people who are traditionally not as represented in popular culture.

Q: Not to put this weight on you, but you did write yourself a lead in “Ruby Sparks,” so surely you can just make this happen too, right?

A: (Laughs) I have to say I do think that my mind is turned more toward, “How can I be more responsible in who I’m putting in the spotlight?” Trying to think about casting that way. Trying to think about my writing that way. But I also think everybody’s gotta do it for themselves. I think back to writing “Ruby Sparks” and it’s crazy to me that at 25, or however old I was when I wrote that, that I was like, “Oh, we’re gonna get it financed, we’re gonna make this film,” without any sense of, “I shouldn’t be raising my voice.” I think a lot of people struggle with that, and it’s hard to do. It’s not easy. It requires a huge amount of hutzpah, but I think it’s more important now than ever.

Q: To speak out on issues?

A: And to have faith in yourself. One thing that is really hard for me is, I don’t think I give myself full power of what I already know. I will ask for permission or feel I need someone to come from on high. So, I would just stress that there are a lot of ways to get a film financed and there are actually so many people now who are finding ways to do that through creative channels, so don’t wait for someone to do it for you.

Q: If you were to play a lesbian in a romantic comedy, who would you want to cast as your romantic interest?

A: Robin Wright. I just love her. Or Juliette Binoche. Some beautiful woman of the generation before me. No – honestly, if I were going to make a movie I would probably find someone who’s actually gay. I think in terms of trying to be a good ally you want to give people an opportunity who don’t have the spotlight on them as much and who don’t have as many opportunities. I think that some people are marginalized for whatever reason for their sexuality and I would probably make an effort in that direction.

Q: Speaking of onscreen gayness: Paul famously kissed Daniel Radcliffe in “Swiss Army Man.” As his longtime girlfriend, how much say do you have as to which gay men he kisses on screen?

A: Very little! And honestly, I didn’t even know they kissed in that. I really didn’t! And then I saw some clips from it and I was like, “Oh, you guys make out.” And he was like, “No, we don’t.” And I go, “Yeah, you do.” He’s like, “But we’re saving each other’s lives!” He said something that made it seem like it was the purest love. (Laughs) It was so sweet. I loved that movie, and I love that scene! Kissing underwater – it’s so romantic.

Q: You have the best taste in rom-coms. What kind of romantic comedies won’t you do?

A: I have to say that when “The Big Sick” came along I was really not looking to do another romantic comedy. Like, I’ve done it. Also, it’s not really what I got into acting to do. I love to do parts that feel more transformative to me – much more of what I’ve gotten to do on stage from what I’ve gotten to do on film. Stuff like “Olive Kitteridge” is where my true hunger lies. So, when they called me and were like, “We have a script. It’s a romantic comedy. They want you to come in,” I read it and was like, “Oh, this is so good.” It felt like a movie I hadn’t seen before.

You know, it’s hard sometimes when you’re a working actor and you need to make a living. Sometimes a script comes to you and you’re like, it’s a little bit sexist, there’s something kind of racist in here, but I guess I can improv around it or I just won’t say that line. But now I have a much harder, faster rule when scripts come to me and the representation doesn’t feel totally great, and around gay issues too. I just don’t want to be an irreverent torchbearer for something I don’t believe in, especially now.

Chris Azzopardi has interviewed a multitude of superstars, including Meryl Streep, Mariah Carey and Beyoncé. Reach him via his website at www.chris-azzopardi.com.

from Hotspots! Magazine https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2017/08/09/gay-adoration-why-were-crazy-for-actress-zoe-kazan/ from Hot Spots Magazine https://hotspotsmagazine.tumblr.com/post/163993050775

[cynthiajayusa]

Gay Adoration: Why We’re Crazy for Actress Zoe Kazan

Why aren’t more gay men professing their love to Zoe Kazan?

I wonder this after doing just that. I dote on the 33-year-old film and theater actress – star of “Ruby Sparks,” “Revolutionary Road” and HBO’s “Olive Kitteridge” – like she’s my best girlfriend. Like we have history. Like we sip cosmos and talk about what it was like to play Meryl Streep’s daughter in “It’s Complicated.”

I don’t know Kazan, but I love that she’s so committed to being the best LGBT ally she can be that she follows me on Twitter after ending the interview by telling me, “I will say, just FYI, if you ever feel like I’m not being the greatest ally, please write me on Twitter. I really do feel like I want to do the best job I can.”

I love her socially-conscious Twitter feed. Love her latest statement film, “The Big Sick,” based on the real courtship of comedian Kumail Nanjiani and his now-wife, Emily Gordon, and the turmoil it causes when his family discovers Emily is white. I love her longtime boyfriend, the also supremely talented Paul Dano. And when Kazan tells me she wants to shine a spotlight on gay actors and prefers a gay actor play her romantic interest should she ever play a lesbian role herself, I love that too.

“I have never had a gay man profess his love to me before,” Kazan demures, somehow not kidding.

Universal gay adoration is inevitable as Kazan calls on powerful, white, cisgender filmmakers to make a mainstream gay rom-com, and talks about Dano’s onscreen kiss with Daniel Radcliffe and her very human reason for advocating for the LGBT community.  

Q: Growing up in Los Angeles, California, what was your earliest connection to the LGBT community?

A: I think I was really lucky to – yes, to grow up in a neighborhood that was very diverse and inclusive, and to grow up in a family that had those values. I grew up in the ’80s and ’90s, not as progressive of a time as now. I’m sure children today have it a lot better. But I went to a really progressive school with a lot of gay teachers and that wasn’t treated special or different. It just… was. Yeah, it just was. And I had two teachers who died of AIDS in the early and mid ’90s and that was something that was talked about really openly at my school. The school advocated for them and there was a real warmth and inclusiveness. I grew up a bit outside of the reality of the world at large at that point, so when I got into high school – and, again, this was the ’90s – people would be like, “That’s so gay,” and it was a rude awakening.

Q: Is it fair to say that because of your upbringing you’re woke when it comes to gay issues and queer stuff?

A: It is to my benefit as a human that everyone has equal rights and that gay people are treated with respect in the world. That’s the way in which it feels like my issue too. It matters deeply to me. So, if that’s woke, then I guess so. Not a word I use personally but, yeah, go for it!

Q: In addition to a post regarding gay musician Perfume Genius on your Twitter…

A: Oh my god, I love Perfume Genius! Honestly, all I wanted was to go to his concert and Paul didn’t make it happen. It’s a real point of contention in our relationship right now.  

Q: Ha! You are socially and politically active on Twitter as well, with posts about Planned Parenthood, feminism and one regarding the lack of acknowledgement about Pride month from Trump and his administration. It seems like this is a part of you even though you’re not gay.

A: I care deeply about it. Part of that is, as a feminist, I always sort of rankle when people are like, “I have a mother, I have a daughter” – no, you should care about this because of basic fundamental rights for, like, a huge portion of our population. I feel the same way about LGBTQ relations where, like I said, those rights are important to me as a human.

After this administration came into power in November, one of the first things I thought about was actually what happened to gay people under Reagan – the way he ignored the AIDS crisis and how that resulted in so many more deaths, especially in the gay community. And I really felt this thing of, well, yes, our rights recovered from that and our society recovered, but there was a huge cost and not everyone made it. And I thought of that when people were saying, “We’ll get through these four years.” I thought, “Well, not everybody will get through it.” And I think a lot of Republicans think of Reagan as a beaming icon of Republicanism. In fact, during the Democratic Convention, Democrats kept referencing him as being a good example of Republican values that Democrats also shared and I was like, does no one remember the AIDS crisis? He f*cked up.

Q: We tend to forget what history told us.

A: And also what casual bigotry results in. We’re saying that right now with the rise of hate crimes in this country and what happened to that poor Muslim girl (17-year-old Nabra Hassanen was assaulted and killed on June 18 after leaving a Virginia mosque). I know that’s not the direct responsibility of our president, but I am 100 percent certain that the atmosphere of hate that he has engendered set in those man’s actions.

WATCH:

Q: Let’s talk about compassion, and how your new film, “The Big Sick,” is steeped in it. As a gay man, I found myself completely empathizing with these characters in ways that I didn’t think I would. For you, how do you think the overarching themes of forbidden love and familial acceptance of another’s partners may resonate with LGBT audiences?

A: One thing that really speaks so much to me about the film is how much Kumail loves his family. He loves them and part of what is dividing them is a generational divide and their relationship with religion. I would guess that a lot of gay people growing up in really religious communities might feel like their religion could be a source of division between them and their families based on what some Christians, for instance, think of gay people. There’s a part of you that feels like they’ll love you no matter what and there’s a part of you that feels like they might excommunicate you from the family. I’m very moved by the scene in which he tells them that he’s not going to leave his family after he reveals himself to them. It feels really potent to me and I’m glad it spoke to you.

Q: When do you think we can have two gay people as leads in a major romantic comedy?

A: There’s no reason that time can’t be right now. And considering the current climate in this country politically, vis-à-vis Muslims, this feels as risky a movie as a movie with two gay leads. Maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m wrong about that. But Kumail and Emily were brave and told their own story, and a lot of people took a chance on them and got behind them. And they just tried to do the best job they could of telling their story. They weren’t just striving for representation – they had one story they were burning to tell.

I would just encourage everyone out there who is like, “Maybe my story isn’t mainstream enough,” to just do it. Work really hard. They worked on this script for three years before they brought anybody else on. This movie was started because Kumail was at some standup thing that Judd Apatow saw him at and Judd came up to him and was like, “Come in and pitch me every story that you have.” And Kumail went in and pitched and Judd was like, “That’s the one.” We need our allies. Especially people in power like Judd – straight, white men. We need them to step up and be like, “I’m gonna help you tell your story.” So to all the dudes out there in power: I think everybody is hungry to see a story that hasn’t been told a million times, and truly there’s no reason that can’t be right now for many more different kinds of people who are traditionally not as represented in popular culture.

Q: Not to put this weight on you, but you did write yourself a lead in “Ruby Sparks,” so surely you can just make this happen too, right?

A: (Laughs) I have to say I do think that my mind is turned more toward, “How can I be more responsible in who I’m putting in the spotlight?” Trying to think about casting that way. Trying to think about my writing that way. But I also think everybody’s gotta do it for themselves. I think back to writing “Ruby Sparks” and it’s crazy to me that at 25, or however old I was when I wrote that, that I was like, “Oh, we’re gonna get it financed, we’re gonna make this film,” without any sense of, “I shouldn’t be raising my voice.” I think a lot of people struggle with that, and it’s hard to do. It’s not easy. It requires a huge amount of hutzpah, but I think it’s more important now than ever.

Q: To speak out on issues?

A: And to have faith in yourself. One thing that is really hard for me is, I don’t think I give myself full power of what I already know. I will ask for permission or feel I need someone to come from on high. So, I would just stress that there are a lot of ways to get a film financed and there are actually so many people now who are finding ways to do that through creative channels, so don’t wait for someone to do it for you.

Q: If you were to play a lesbian in a romantic comedy, who would you want to cast as your romantic interest?

A: Robin Wright. I just love her. Or Juliette Binoche. Some beautiful woman of the generation before me. No – honestly, if I were going to make a movie I would probably find someone who’s actually gay. I think in terms of trying to be a good ally you want to give people an opportunity who don’t have the spotlight on them as much and who don’t have as many opportunities. I think that some people are marginalized for whatever reason for their sexuality and I would probably make an effort in that direction.

Q: Speaking of onscreen gayness: Paul famously kissed Daniel Radcliffe in “Swiss Army Man.” As his longtime girlfriend, how much say do you have as to which gay men he kisses on screen?

A: Very little! And honestly, I didn’t even know they kissed in that. I really didn’t! And then I saw some clips from it and I was like, “Oh, you guys make out.” And he was like, “No, we don’t.” And I go, “Yeah, you do.” He’s like, “But we’re saving each other’s lives!” He said something that made it seem like it was the purest love. (Laughs) It was so sweet. I loved that movie, and I love that scene! Kissing underwater – it’s so romantic.

Q: You have the best taste in rom-coms. What kind of romantic comedies won’t you do?

A: I have to say that when “The Big Sick” came along I was really not looking to do another romantic comedy. Like, I’ve done it. Also, it’s not really what I got into acting to do. I love to do parts that feel more transformative to me – much more of what I’ve gotten to do on stage from what I’ve gotten to do on film. Stuff like “Olive Kitteridge” is where my true hunger lies. So, when they called me and were like, “We have a script. It’s a romantic comedy. They want you to come in,” I read it and was like, “Oh, this is so good.” It felt like a movie I hadn’t seen before.

You know, it’s hard sometimes when you’re a working actor and you need to make a living. Sometimes a script comes to you and you’re like, it’s a little bit sexist, there’s something kind of racist in here, but I guess I can improv around it or I just won’t say that line. But now I have a much harder, faster rule when scripts come to me and the representation doesn’t feel totally great, and around gay issues too. I just don’t want to be an irreverent torchbearer for something I don’t believe in, especially now.

Chris Azzopardi has interviewed a multitude of superstars, including Meryl Streep, Mariah Carey and Beyoncé. Reach him via his website at www.chris-azzopardi.com.

source https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2017/08/09/gay-adoration-why-were-crazy-for-actress-zoe-kazan/ from Hot Spots Magazine http://hotspotsmagazin.blogspot.com/2017/08/gay-adoration-why-were-crazy-for.html

[hotspotsmagazine]

Gay Adoration: Why We’re Crazy for Actress Zoe Kazan

Why aren’t more gay men professing their love to Zoe Kazan?

I wonder this after doing just that. I dote on the 33-year-old film and theater actress – star of “Ruby Sparks,” “Revolutionary Road” and HBO’s “Olive Kitteridge” – like she’s my best girlfriend. Like we have history. Like we sip cosmos and talk about what it was like to play Meryl Streep’s daughter in “It’s Complicated.”

I don’t know Kazan, but I love that she’s so committed to being the best LGBT ally she can be that she follows me on Twitter after ending the interview by telling me, “I will say, just FYI, if you ever feel like I’m not being the greatest ally, please write me on Twitter. I really do feel like I want to do the best job I can.”

I love her socially-conscious Twitter feed. Love her latest statement film, “The Big Sick,” based on the real courtship of comedian Kumail Nanjiani and his now-wife, Emily Gordon, and the turmoil it causes when his family discovers Emily is white. I love her longtime boyfriend, the also supremely talented Paul Dano. And when Kazan tells me she wants to shine a spotlight on gay actors and prefers a gay actor play her romantic interest should she ever play a lesbian role herself, I love that too.

“I have never had a gay man profess his love to me before,” Kazan demures, somehow not kidding.

Universal gay adoration is inevitable as Kazan calls on powerful, white, cisgender filmmakers to make a mainstream gay rom-com, and talks about Dano’s onscreen kiss with Daniel Radcliffe and her very human reason for advocating for the LGBT community.  

Q: Growing up in Los Angeles, California, what was your earliest connection to the LGBT community?

A: I think I was really lucky to – yes, to grow up in a neighborhood that was very diverse and inclusive, and to grow up in a family that had those values. I grew up in the ’80s and ’90s, not as progressive of a time as now. I’m sure children today have it a lot better. But I went to a really progressive school with a lot of gay teachers and that wasn’t treated special or different. It just… was. Yeah, it just was. And I had two teachers who died of AIDS in the early and mid ’90s and that was something that was talked about really openly at my school. The school advocated for them and there was a real warmth and inclusiveness. I grew up a bit outside of the reality of the world at large at that point, so when I got into high school – and, again, this was the ’90s – people would be like, “That’s so gay,” and it was a rude awakening.

Q: Is it fair to say that because of your upbringing you’re woke when it comes to gay issues and queer stuff?

A: It is to my benefit as a human that everyone has equal rights and that gay people are treated with respect in the world. That’s the way in which it feels like my issue too. It matters deeply to me. So, if that’s woke, then I guess so. Not a word I use personally but, yeah, go for it!

Q: In addition to a post regarding gay musician Perfume Genius on your Twitter…

A: Oh my god, I love Perfume Genius! Honestly, all I wanted was to go to his concert and Paul didn’t make it happen. It’s a real point of contention in our relationship right now.  

Q: Ha! You are socially and politically active on Twitter as well, with posts about Planned Parenthood, feminism and one regarding the lack of acknowledgement about Pride month from Trump and his administration. It seems like this is a part of you even though you’re not gay.

A: I care deeply about it. Part of that is, as a feminist, I always sort of rankle when people are like, “I have a mother, I have a daughter” – no, you should care about this because of basic fundamental rights for, like, a huge portion of our population. I feel the same way about LGBTQ relations where, like I said, those rights are important to me as a human.

After this administration came into power in November, one of the first things I thought about was actually what happened to gay people under Reagan – the way he ignored the AIDS crisis and how that resulted in so many more deaths, especially in the gay community. And I really felt this thing of, well, yes, our rights recovered from that and our society recovered, but there was a huge cost and not everyone made it. And I thought of that when people were saying, “We’ll get through these four years.” I thought, “Well, not everybody will get through it.” And I think a lot of Republicans think of Reagan as a beaming icon of Republicanism. In fact, during the Democratic Convention, Democrats kept referencing him as being a good example of Republican values that Democrats also shared and I was like, does no one remember the AIDS crisis? He f*cked up.

Q: We tend to forget what history told us.

A: And also what casual bigotry results in. We’re saying that right now with the rise of hate crimes in this country and what happened to that poor Muslim girl (17-year-old Nabra Hassanen was assaulted and killed on June 18 after leaving a Virginia mosque). I know that’s not the direct responsibility of our president, but I am 100 percent certain that the atmosphere of hate that he has engendered set in those man’s actions.

WATCH:

Q: Let’s talk about compassion, and how your new film, “The Big Sick,” is steeped in it. As a gay man, I found myself completely empathizing with these characters in ways that I didn’t think I would. For you, how do you think the overarching themes of forbidden love and familial acceptance of another’s partners may resonate with LGBT audiences?

A: One thing that really speaks so much to me about the film is how much Kumail loves his family. He loves them and part of what is dividing them is a generational divide and their relationship with religion. I would guess that a lot of gay people growing up in really religious communities might feel like their religion could be a source of division between them and their families based on what some Christians, for instance, think of gay people. There’s a part of you that feels like they’ll love you no matter what and there’s a part of you that feels like they might excommunicate you from the family. I’m very moved by the scene in which he tells them that he’s not going to leave his family after he reveals himself to them. It feels really potent to me and I’m glad it spoke to you.

Q: When do you think we can have two gay people as leads in a major romantic comedy?

A: There’s no reason that time can’t be right now. And considering the current climate in this country politically, vis-à-vis Muslims, this feels as risky a movie as a movie with two gay leads. Maybe it’s not. Maybe I’m wrong about that. But Kumail and Emily were brave and told their own story, and a lot of people took a chance on them and got behind them. And they just tried to do the best job they could of telling their story. They weren’t just striving for representation – they had one story they were burning to tell.

I would just encourage everyone out there who is like, “Maybe my story isn’t mainstream enough,” to just do it. Work really hard. They worked on this script for three years before they brought anybody else on. This movie was started because Kumail was at some standup thing that Judd Apatow saw him at and Judd came up to him and was like, “Come in and pitch me every story that you have.” And Kumail went in and pitched and Judd was like, “That’s the one.” We need our allies. Especially people in power like Judd – straight, white men. We need them to step up and be like, “I’m gonna help you tell your story.” So to all the dudes out there in power: I think everybody is hungry to see a story that hasn’t been told a million times, and truly there’s no reason that can’t be right now for many more different kinds of people who are traditionally not as represented in popular culture.

Q: Not to put this weight on you, but you did write yourself a lead in “Ruby Sparks,” so surely you can just make this happen too, right?

A: (Laughs) I have to say I do think that my mind is turned more toward, “How can I be more responsible in who I’m putting in the spotlight?” Trying to think about casting that way. Trying to think about my writing that way. But I also think everybody’s gotta do it for themselves. I think back to writing “Ruby Sparks” and it’s crazy to me that at 25, or however old I was when I wrote that, that I was like, “Oh, we’re gonna get it financed, we’re gonna make this film,” without any sense of, “I shouldn’t be raising my voice.” I think a lot of people struggle with that, and it’s hard to do. It’s not easy. It requires a huge amount of hutzpah, but I think it’s more important now than ever.

Q: To speak out on issues?

A: And to have faith in yourself. One thing that is really hard for me is, I don’t think I give myself full power of what I already know. I will ask for permission or feel I need someone to come from on high. So, I would just stress that there are a lot of ways to get a film financed and there are actually so many people now who are finding ways to do that through creative channels, so don’t wait for someone to do it for you.

Q: If you were to play a lesbian in a romantic comedy, who would you want to cast as your romantic interest?

A: Robin Wright. I just love her. Or Juliette Binoche. Some beautiful woman of the generation before me. No – honestly, if I were going to make a movie I would probably find someone who’s actually gay. I think in terms of trying to be a good ally you want to give people an opportunity who don’t have the spotlight on them as much and who don’t have as many opportunities. I think that some people are marginalized for whatever reason for their sexuality and I would probably make an effort in that direction.

Q: Speaking of onscreen gayness: Paul famously kissed Daniel Radcliffe in “Swiss Army Man.” As his longtime girlfriend, how much say do you have as to which gay men he kisses on screen?

A: Very little! And honestly, I didn’t even know they kissed in that. I really didn’t! And then I saw some clips from it and I was like, “Oh, you guys make out.” And he was like, “No, we don’t.” And I go, “Yeah, you do.” He’s like, “But we’re saving each other’s lives!” He said something that made it seem like it was the purest love. (Laughs) It was so sweet. I loved that movie, and I love that scene! Kissing underwater – it’s so romantic.

Q: You have the best taste in rom-coms. What kind of romantic comedies won’t you do?

A: I have to say that when “The Big Sick” came along I was really not looking to do another romantic comedy. Like, I’ve done it. Also, it’s not really what I got into acting to do. I love to do parts that feel more transformative to me – much more of what I’ve gotten to do on stage from what I’ve gotten to do on film. Stuff like “Olive Kitteridge” is where my true hunger lies. So, when they called me and were like, “We have a script. It’s a romantic comedy. They want you to come in,” I read it and was like, “Oh, this is so good.” It felt like a movie I hadn’t seen before.

You know, it’s hard sometimes when you’re a working actor and you need to make a living. Sometimes a script comes to you and you’re like, it’s a little bit sexist, there’s something kind of racist in here, but I guess I can improv around it or I just won’t say that line. But now I have a much harder, faster rule when scripts come to me and the representation doesn’t feel totally great, and around gay issues too. I just don’t want to be an irreverent torchbearer for something I don’t believe in, especially now.

Chris Azzopardi has interviewed a multitude of superstars, including Meryl Streep, Mariah Carey and Beyoncé. Reach him via his website at www.chris-azzopardi.com.

from Hotspots! Magazine https://hotspotsmagazine.com/2017/08/09/gay-adoration-why-were-crazy-for-actress-zoe-kazan/